


Pull My Strings One by One

by pennysparkle



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Exploration, Light Masochism, M/M, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparkle/pseuds/pennysparkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A-all you have to d-do is... introduce y-yourself to him..." Alphys instructed, claws fidgeting with her lab coat. She could barely look him in the eye even after all the time they'd spent together as of late, though it had technically been rife with many a long bout of Mettaton fussing at her for not working harder or faster. He guessed he could see why she seemed a little timid, then. He'd certainly been demanding. "S-show him what you can do and... j-just... that's all, okay?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull My Strings One by One

"A-all you have to d-do is... introduce y-yourself to him..." Alphys instructed, claws fidgeting with her lab coat. She could barely look him in the eye even after all the time they'd spent together as of late, though it had technically been rife with many a long bout of Mettaton fussing at her for not working harder or faster. He guessed he could see why she seemed a little timid, then. He'd certainly been demanding. "S-show him what you can do and... j-just... that's all, okay?"

"I know! It won't take much to blow him away, I'm sure," he said.

"A-and, if he asks you any questions... you can probably answer them as well as I can."

"Of course, darling."

"But it should be mostly o-okay!"

"Yes! You did wonderfully! It'll all be fine." She wasn't going to let this go unless he did something soon, so he modulated his voice into a more gentle tone, one he had often used to calm and comfort Blooky. In ways, they were similar; she was so often anxious, locking herself away from other monsters until he had come around, and the comparison softened him toward her. Besides, she deserved to have her fears assuaged. He was  _perfect_ —she'd done a fantastic job, and if the king couldn't see that, then he was a little more airheaded than any of them expected.

"Okay!" she said after taking a deep breath, pluckier and more confident with his reassurance. "S-so... you're going to go now, right?"

"Just as soon as I freshen up!" He was meeting a  _king_ , after all. It was only polite to look his utter best.

But she seemed to wilt at that. She likely wanted Mettaton to be on his way as soon as possible, anxious to learn Asgore's opinion on her masterpiece. It almost verged on some kind of  _obsession_ ; by this point, Mettaton had listened to countless hours worth of her chattering on about how  _interesting_ she thought he was, and how  _cool_ it would be to become his royal scientist. He didn't blame her for shooting so high, but this only made him all the more confident that he was correct in his sneaking suspicion that as much as she had taken on Mettaton's case to help him, he had helped her too by accepting. Not that he could fault her for using him as the project to finally get her an in with the king; with something as beautiful and intricate as him, there was no doubt in his mind that she could become royal scientist—and that would still hold true even if he spent an hour getting himself into shape for his grand debut.

"Don't you worry, darling. I only want to make sure he sees just how stunning and flawless your work was! You did your part, and now it's up to me!" he said, giving her that charming smile that so often caused her to go red in the face and bumble until she gave in to whatever it was that he was saying.

This time it only took about five seconds for her to nod in compliance, a little uneasy but ultimately convinced. "Well... I-I guess that's alright... as long as you go today."

"I told you: don't  _worry_ about it, darling. I wouldn't miss this chance for the world!"

She nodded and stepped back with an air of resignation, though her claws wavered in the air for a moment, as if to reach out and... what? Adjust his hair or something? Setting aside the fact that she couldn't reach, the thought was almost too absurd.

"It'll be fine! I'll tell you all about it afterward," he assured her before she could say anything else. "But I'd better go now, unless you want to be up all night listening to me tell you how much he  _adores_ your work."

Come to think of it, she'd likely enjoy that, and there  _was_ a sudden glint of interest in her eyes, but Mettaton was already turning and heading for the door with a little bit of a wobble in his step. The legs were still new, and he wasn't entirely steady on them just yet—maybe not at  _all_ steady, and he was sure the boots he'd chosen didn't help with that... but such was the price of looking good. He certainly wouldn't be caught dead in a pair of  _sneakers_. How appalling.

"Call me if... if anything goes wrong!" she called after him.

He waved back at her, but didn't stop walking. There wasn't anymore time to let her worry over things; as anxious as she was to get him to the king, he wanted to just as badly—but he also wanted to ensure everything about himself looked absolutely perfect. Not only would it reflect on him, but on  _Alphys_  too, and after all of her thus-far thankless hard work, he owed it to her to at least present himself in a fetching light.

So he took his time cleaning up in his suite atop the hotel. By the time he was through, every inch of metal plating would gleam, his hair would be perfectly styled into place, and his outfit, though nothing particularly special or out of the ordinary, would be impeccable. Absolutely nothing would be found lacking today. He made utterly sure of that, and then repeated the process, just to be  _entirely_ without a doubt. Then he left.

As he made his way up through the core, he felt something like anticipation and excitement growing inside of him. There was no way the king wouldn't approve of someone so obviously well put-together—but moreso, he could actually  _meet_  the king. These were the kinds of things that he'd never thought would happen to someone like him, and it made him giddy now that it was finally hitting him, so much so that he very nearly tripped in his haste to get out of the elevator and into the king's chamber.

It was open and airy inside, softly lit with the glow of evening, of  _life_ —utterly unlike any other place underground. But for some reason, it surprised him to actually see Asgore there, and further still to finally recognize him in person. He was bigger than Mettaton had thought—not that he had expected him to be  _small_ , and not that he really would have towered over him either. But there was a certain quality to him that made him feel much larger, and Mettaton had to physically lift his head to be able to see the tips of his horns.

"Just a moment, please... I'm almost done," Asgore said, muffled from being faced away from him. He dusted off the knees of his pants before crouching down amongst the flowers, careful not to stand on any of them, and started tugging up tiny bundles of weeds that got tossed into an empty bucket beside himself.

Mettaton watched closely. Everyone knew the king enjoyed gardening, but to actually see it up close and personal was almost amusing. He got down there in the dirt and pulled up weeds by  _himself_? Without  _gloves_? Mettaton would have only done that for a captive audience. Then again, that was their king: always more interested in going his own direction than playing the part of some almighty, serene ruler.

And he was definitely taking his dear sweet time today, putting aside the bucket of weeds, then starting on watering the large flowerbed. It was his right as king, of course; everything was meant to be on his schedule, which certainly clashed a bit with Mettaton, but he wasn't about to say that.

He just couldn't help being bored as he stood waiting, so he allowed his eyes to wander, examining the room a little more closely. That warm glow was the tiniest bit of sunlight from the surface, peeking through the scattered holes in the roof of the throne room to spill gently over golden flowers. It gilded the edges of the throne placed at the center of the bed and made it gleam brightly, almost ethereal, difficult to look at. Everything else seemed to be thrown into shadow by it, lackluster in comparison to the intimidating sight it made. Mettaton had to hand it to Asgore—even if he hadn't intended so, he definitely had a flair for dramatic presentation.

But even as impressed as Mettaton was, it passed, along with the time. There was only so much to look at, after all, and he was more than a little tired of standing up. Unfortunately, the only two places to sit were upon the king's throne, or the one set a little further back—a relic that was nonetheless clung to—and he wasn't going to try his luck with either of those.

Mettaton sighed, a sound of annoyance more than any kind of  _need_ to sigh. Did Asgore really intend to ensure that every tiny flower was taken care of before turning his attention to his visitor? But the sound caused him to abruptly straighten up again, and he scratched the back of his neck as he turned to assess Mettaton.

"I apologize..." Asgore said, pausing before letting out a hearty laugh. "I forgot you were here!"

Mettaton's mouth very nearly fell open in shock. All the citizens of the underground made jokes about what a big, hare-brained softy he was, but he was really  _like_ this? All the time?

"It's just I couldn't hear you breathing," he continued after an awkward silence, and when Mettaton still said nothing, he cleared his throat. "Well... ah... what can I do for you today?"

"Alphys sent me," said Mettaton after another moment of absorbing just how ridiculous this situation was. But he did his best to continue on like nothing was out of place. "I'm your new and improved human killing machine, darling!"

Now it was Asgore's turn to seem taken aback, processing the words that came out of Mettaton's mouth but seeming unable to decipher their true meaning. "What?" he inquired at length.

"Isn't it a chore for you to kill them?" Mettaton said. "I was made to do the job for you."

His own interests went unstated; it would probably seem less impressive, less of a testament to Alphys' skill, if he mentioned being an entertainer as well, and one with rather strong sympathies toward humans at that... Asgore could find that out later. Or perhaps not. There certainly wasn't a TV buried amongst his bed of flowers.

"Well... It's just that I'm not sure," Asgore said. He was hovering among the flowers, his shoulders hunched a little as he observed Mettaton. "I'm not sure a robot could do the job that easily."

Mettaton gave him a placid, displeased stare. For someone that put so much emphasis on a generous, kingly disposition, he could be a bit...  _underhanded_. But that was fine. Mettaton had been proven wrong lately, but he'd also proved others wrong in turn, and he had no doubts he could show the king that he lived up to everything he'd been built for—and then some.

"Perhaps I should get you a cup of tea and we can talk about your capabilities?" said Asgore into the pointed silence Mettaton was creating. "Why don't you, ah... take a seat..."

His words slowed as he seemed to realize that there  _wasn't_ anywhere to sit. But Mettaton had already taken a prim, brave step forward through the flowers and sat down upon the throne. There was something forbidden and thrilling about the act; he knew Asgore could strike him down where he sat if he took badly to it. Still, even though his eyes widened, he said nothing, and instead bustled through one of the doorways, through which there soon came the sound of teacups tinkling.

Mettaton didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't really  _need_ to drink things, and besides, the throne was surprisingly comfortable. The cushions encased him, making him less and less fond of the idea of getting up, though the whole thing was rather larger than was needed for his size. He couldn't set both arms along the rests, so he leaned against one, crossing his legs together at the knee and pushing his hip out. Altogether he imagined he made quite an alluring sight.

Within a few minutes, Asgore shuffled back in with two mugs cradled in his large hands, humming softly to himself—though when he came to a halt in front of Mettaton, a unique dilemma was presented. Did Mettaton stand and allow the king to take his throne? Or did he sit and remain obstinate in the face of him?

He didn't have to make the decision. Even the slight twitch of his leg had Asgore shaking his head and moving to sit on the ground in front of him after handing off one of the mugs of tea. Mettaton knew better than to suggest that he sit in the other throne; it was probably symbolic for him. He could keep it, but not touch it.

"So... Alphys made a robot," Asgore said at length, taking a moment to blow lightly at the surface of his tea. "And you're programmed to fight humans."

"Not  _programmed_ ," said Mettaton. What an absurd assumption—almost as absurd as the way he was simulating his own breath to cool his tea the way Asgore did. "I think for myself."

"You're an AI?"

"I told you,  _I_  think for  _myself_ , darling! She doesn't tell me to do anything. I do whatever I'd like to."

"... But you're a robot," Asgore said.

Did he get the picture  _at all_? It wasn't like Mettaton was being altogether vague. But he sighed and crossed his legs together again, noting the way Asgore's eyes dropped down to them. He didn't blame him. There was no one in the underground quite like him, and especially no one that  _looked_ like him, or had legs as perfect as his. It was only natural to be curious, or to feel a pang of admiration.

"I have my own soul," he explained, even though Asgore looked a little bit dubious. "This is just the body it inhabits. So anything I do is my own decision, darling."

Asgore hummed in thought, taking a slow sip of his tea. "Anything?"

"Of course!"

"So if I asked you to do something, it'd be your own decision to do it or not?"

"You've got it in one, gorgeous!" Mettaton said. He tried a taste of the tea too, which was somewhat bitter on the taste buds Alphys had outfitted him with, and hot, besides. Politely, he rested it back in his lap. "Though you  _are_ king, after all. I'm sure I'd have a hard time disobeying."

The face Asgore made was as though he'd smelled something bad, nose crinkled and brows furrowed, mouth downturned. It made Mettaton laugh to himself, squeezing his legs together in delight before he recrossed them—though, on accident, his boot knocked against Asgore's chest. Before now, he hadn't realized just how close they were.

He was about to recoil, drawing his leg back, but Asgore grabbed it before he could, holding it steadily in place as he examined the bright pink boot encasing it. "And Alphys didn't dress you up like this?"

" _Alphys_? Of course not, darling. She wouldn't know fashion even if it was in one of her human history books!" Mettaton said with a scoff.

"I see," said Asgore, his hand slipping up higher over the material of Mettaton's boot until he could touch his leg instead. Inquisitiveness creased his features, and he squeezed lightly, gauging the feel of it, but Mettaton couldn't help a shiver of... pleasure? Interest? Alphys certainly touched him intimately enough, but none of it was with this kind of light, fleeting curiosity. Hers were the firm, sure touches of fine-tuning, of adjustment. It was safe to say that  _no one_ had touched him like this ever before, with this level of wonder, and if his body wasn't already breathless by nature, it would have been left so by that.

Slowly and methodically, Asgore's hands were searching, moving past the tiny slip of calf and along his knees, then to the bottoms of his thighs. The heat of him radiated through the fabric of Mettaton's leggings to lay upon the parts of him that were more like flesh than anything else, and Mettaton knew that Asgore was probably just doing this out of sheer desire to know how he functioned, but he couldn't help his own reactions to it. His eyes lowered, lidded as he watched those fingers sneaking higher and higher, getting so close to the warmth between his legs, to the wetness there.

But abruptly, Asgore pulled his hand away and looked up at Mettaton, at his heated face, his own blushing as he spoke. "I'm so sorry... I shouldn't have gone so far."

"It's alright, beautiful," Mettaton said immediately, though his voice shook with some kind of interference. The idea of him being upset about this was more than a little unbelievable, and he hooked his other leg over Asgore's shoulder, drawing him closer. Too daring for his own good, he was sure—but he'd had good luck so far. "Touch all you like! You should get to know each and every inch of me if you're going to trust me with this!"

As it stood, Asgore's face was as red as could be, and he was clearly hesitant. Mettaton could practically see his thoughts speeding up, his eyes glancing up at Mettaton's face and then back down, then up again. It felt like he'd lost the battle before it had even begun, and he had no interest in losing gracefully, opening his mouth to speak.

But just then, Asgore's hand drifted up Mettaton's thigh again, his fingers pressing into the softer flesh there. To feel it was enough of a shock that Mettaton twitched, his thighs parting a little bit more, which allowed Asgore closer to the center of him. It made his breathing kick in, trying to cool his body from the sudden spike of heat it experienced, and he bit his lip as he watched with excited eyes.

Except Asgore bypassed his cunt and smoothed over Mettaton's waist instead. "I admit... I'm curious where you keep your weapons."

"... What?" Mettaton inquired. He felt miles and miles away, not at all up to some kind of intense discussion of the properties of his body, no matter how he'd invited Asgore to explore it. He could admit to himself that it was all a selfish excuse to be touched, anyway.

"Your weapons. You said Alphys made you to kill humans, correct?"

Mettaton sighed and pillowed his heated cheek against his hand, a pout on his face as Asgore's hands stilled. It wasn't like he could  _help_  being a tease, but all the same... "That's what you're thinking about right now?"

"Of course. I'm very interested in seeing her craftsmanship!"

He sighed again, more noisily this time. And here he'd thought things would be getting  _interesting_. Oh well. "It's this," he said with a hint of resentfulness, pointing to the heart resting in its casing on his waist.

"This...?" Asgore wondered. He reached out again, stroking one fingertip over his heart as he leaned a little closer.

It was such a simple touch, but it sent another jolt through Mettaton, one that caused him to moan and then quickly cover his mouth with his palm, cheeks heating up more and more as his body went into overdrive. This was too much. Asgore really had no  _idea_  what he was causing, how wet Mettaton was, how he was doing his level best not to just wrap his legs around his neck and pull him in close, guide him up against his pussy and rub against his mouth until he came.

He couldn't do that, though. Instead he inhaled as Asgore outlined his heart with single-minded focus, careful as he could be, until Mettaton was frustrated to the point of digging rivets into the throne with his nails. He  _needed_ more than this.

And then, slowly, Asgore drew back, but Mettaton couldn't take it anymore. He swung his other leg up over Asgore's shoulder, drawing him back in with heavy breaths.

"I... ah—is something the matter?" Asgore asked delicately, even though he was just about pressed against Mettaton's crotch.

"Darling... you've got me all worked up now," Mettaton confessed, loosening his grip a little. He didn't want to strangle Asgore, and besides, there was an ache between his thighs, insistent and tense. He squeezed them together slightly in the hopes that it would ease, and when it didn't, he cupped a hand between them instead, putting pressure on his clit.

"You...  _oh_." Asgore's face got even more red by the second, and he swallowed hard as he remained still. "Well, I..."

"I'd appreciate the help, gorgeous. If you're interested." Mettaton kept his tone light, not wanting to seem  _too_ invested in his answer. He supposed if it came to it, he could escape to some private nook and bring himself some relief, but this seemed much preferable to that kind of lonely outcome.

Asgore cleared his throat, his gaze averted; Mettaton was sure it was embarrassment, and he waited for it to pass, for Asgore to give him an answer. Only he was abruptly tugged forward instead, Asgore's mouth pressed right up against his cunt through the fabric. He seemed flustered by his own boldness, and lifted his eyes to Mettaton, who was grinning down at him even through the shocked moan that came from him.

"O-oh my! I didn't know you'd take to it so easily!" he murmured, cupping the back of Asgore's head fondly. The sight of him between his legs, crown slightly askew, seemed so utterly perfect that he wished he could have a still shot of it, something to hang up on his dressing room mirror—an indecent memory that was just too perfect to let go of.

Asgore wasn't quite moving yet, though—still in shock, it seemed. But after a moment he curled his hand over Mettaton's thigh and pushed it a little wider so that his shoulders could rest between them, and then his tongue pressed carefully against the fabric. Mettaton could feel the heat of his tongue through it, and after a few seconds, combined with his own wetness, it grew damp too. His eyes fluttered and he scooted down a little, eager to feel more.

"I never imagined that a king would do this for  _me_! Such a twist!" It was thrilling, to say the least; himself spread out over the throne with Asgore's tongue starting to rub experimentally against his pussy through the fabric, legs straining to pull himself closer where they hooked over his shoulders. Even this tiny amount of contact was nice, the friction of it eased by the wetness, enough pressure that he didn't feel entirely bereft. Something about it seemed almost luxurious, and he sighed, tossing his head back into the velvety purple fabric as Asgore's tongue focused on his clit momentarily.

Needless to say, it wasn't enough just yet. But the act of it was pleasant enough for a little while, until Mettaton tired of it, brushing his fingertips along the hair at the back of Asgore's head and pulling him away for a moment.

"You want to see, don't you, darling? You're curious?" he asked.

Asgore cleared his throat, a little bit dazed as he looked up at Mettaton. "About what?"

"What I look like." Mettaton certainly  _wanted_ to show him, and with a charming smile, he hooked his fingertips under the waistband of his leggings and pushed them down around one ankle, then kicked them aside, legs spreading apart again for Asgore to see.

The sound of him swallowing was audible. At first, he simply observed Mettaton with a stunned look on his face, but then he leaned in, hands wrapped around both of his thighs, and held him open as he examined him, fingertips brushing the soft crux of his thighs.

The contact was so different from when there was fabric separating them. Now it felt like too much to Mettaton; it made him moan, and he didn't understand  _why_. He wasn't even being touched somewhere that felt particularly good! And he should have been ashamed, but he just pushed his hips down, silently begging for more contact with the gesture.

"Don't make me wait, beautiful. Please?" he asked, reaching down and touching his pussy carefully. It felt tender, too sensitive—he gasped as his fingertips nudged against his clit, then slipped down into the wet heat of his cunt. An agonized sound escaped him, amazed that this could feel so good, but it only turned that ache inside of himself higher, and he shuddered all over as he lifted his hips into his hand.

Asgore pushed it away hurriedly, gripped his thighs and tugged him down. He was no mercy and all business as his tongue pressed against Mettaton's clit first, which made him jump like he'd been shocked, a startled, staticky moan spilling free as Asgore set to work. He was meticulous but firm, eyes on his as he used his thumbs to part his folds, lapping between with one long stroke from his entrance to his clit, where he sucked lightly before repeating the process. With each touch, he sought what made Mettaton arch up and cry out the loudest, and Mettaton wondered if he hadn't just about struck gold here. To have the king at  _his_ service? No one would ever believe him—not that he intended on telling anyway, but that was beside the point. The point was that he was  _good_ at this.

"Just like that," Mettaton breathed tightly, words sticking in his chest when Asgore lifted his hips up and pulled him in even closer to his mouth, tongue poking and circling around his clit quickly as he started to breathe harder. He couldn't believe that this was all it took for him to start losing that grip on himself, for the sweet ache in his stomach to get closer and closer to spilling over and out of his control. It was frustrating; he didn't want it to stop just yet, but it was hard when Asgore had his tongue nudging against Mettaton's clit and one finger rubbing repeatedly against his wet opening at the same time. He seemed to want to push it inside, but he probably lacked the confidence to do so, so Mettaton shifted his hips down into the pressure until he felt it just barely push inside.

Even that much was big. Mettaton bit at his lip, eyes wide as he strained up further and felt it slip a tiny bit deeper. And it was strange—he hadn't thought about how far this might go until just now, but to feel this, he started to wonder just what it would be like to have Asgore's cock inside, if it would be so big it  _hurt_.

He wanted to see it. Anxiety bubbled beneath the surface of his body, stuttered electricity coursing through him as he tried to focus on Asgore's tongue. But with each pass, he found himself more and more curious, and more and more  _distracted_ , until he eventually reached down and pushed Asgore's face away.

There was the pink of Mettaton's wetness around his mouth, and he cleared his throat as he tried to wipe it away with little use. "Is something the matter?" he asked once he'd given up. "You didn't get to... ahem..."

"I want to see you too, darling," Mettaton said urgently, dropping his feet back to the floor and pressing hands to Asgore's shoulder in an effort to get him to sit back back. He was sturdy, however—much broader than Mettaton, and he felt like a wall beneath his palms. It took Asgore  _choosing_ to do so for him to finally move, resting among the flowers, and Mettaton scrambled down between his legs with no hesitation, only to be confronted with his armor, which worked to slow him from his frenzy. He huffed as he tried to tug it all away, utterly confused as to where he should start.

"Here. Allow me do it," Asgore murmured, easily stripping his armor away until all that was left were his pants and the considerable bulge beneath them.

Now that he could finally do so, Mettaton was quick to reach out and touch, rubbing his hand over the outline of it as he scooted closer. It was too big underneath his fingers; he didn't think he'd ever be able to take it, but he squirmed in delight as he pushed Asgore's pants down and it sprang free, thick and heavy with hardness, causing another surge of electric need to shoot through Mettaton's lower body.

He wanted to touch, so he did, slow and curious, selfishly thinking more of his own interest than of how frustrating it must have been getting for Asgore; in a way, it could have been payback for all the long minutes of want Mettaton had suffered through earlier. Now it was  _his_ turn to explore at his own pace,  _his_ turn to examine Asgore's capabilities.

And what he found as he touched was that Asgore's cock was so thick it was impossible to wrap his hand all the way around it, that from wrist to fingertip wasn't enough to span the length. He had no one else to compare this to, but it seemed somehow extraordinary all the same. Mettaton's fingertip rubbed up the length as he thought, touching the tip of it and swiping through precome, then moved back down as Asgore shuddered, his cock twitching from the tease.

"What feels good?" Mettaton wondered. He thought he might have known—after all, anime about magical girls and hot-blooded protagonists wasn't  _all_ that fell down from the barrier. There were ones about more carnal things, which he and Alphys had mistakenly watched a single time. Plus she'd consulted a lot of indecent comics that featured more than a little heavy petting between the characters while they were designing his body... So he'd seen a good few things. It was just hard to call them into focus at the moment, or even know if they were what was preferred.

"Ahem... well. If you..." Asgore's voice got a little quieter, but he ultimately seemed unable to force the words out, so he just reached across and cupped Mettaton's chin, using his thumb to press his lips apart. Mettaton allowed it, his tongue darting out to press against his finger, swirling over the pad of it and making Asgore's blush get a little deeper. Perhaps a king wasn't used to such indecency; perhaps that was why the idea of it excited Mettaton so much, made his pussy throb and ache between his thighs, wetness soaking them as he looked up at Asgore.

His thumb was still inside of Mettaton's mouth, unmoving. If it wasn't so worth it, it would certainly be frustrating how much of this he'd had to do himself, but nevertheless, Mettaton tilted his head, releasing his thumb so that his tongue could poke out and flick over his index finger instead. It gave the hint clearly enough, and with a quiet sigh, Asgore pressed it into Mettaton's mouth alongside his thumb, then his middle finger too, when it was sought.

Slowly, Mettaton pushed his mouth down around them, tongue teasing over fingertips, knuckles, sucking even though he knew it wouldn't cause all that much pleasure. It was the principle of matters—he wanted Asgore to  _know_ beyond a doubt that he wanted this, that for the moment, this was his entire purpose for being here. And he was the one leading the show. There was no question about authority or artificial intelligence here; it was  _all_ him.

As he sucked, he kept his eyes locked on Asgore's, pushing his lips down further until Asgore seemed to get the point of this particular exercise. Much to Mettaton's delight, he started thrusting his fingers into his mouth with a little less care than he'd shown so far, brushing the back of his throat and making him start to drool. He could feel it dripping down his chin, but he didn't particularly care—that'd just make it all the easier, and anyway, he was thoroughly caught up with how interested Asgore was getting as seconds ticked by, pushing his fingers in a little deeper and harder each time, until Mettaton's eyes were half-lidded and he was looking up at him, utterly debauched, panting and gasping around his fingers.

"Ahem..." Asgore said again, nervously withdrawing his fingers and frowning a little as he gestured downward. "Like that... but here."

By this point, Mettaton was too insatiable to be patient. His head dipped down and he took the tip of Asgore's cock into his mouth, tongue rubbing obsessively over it, gathering up all that precome and then sucking, cheeks hollowed as he looked up at Asgore.

"M-more slowly," said Asgore with a wince.

Was his enthusiasm too much? Or was it just right, and Asgore  _knew_ it'd make him come before he even got a chance to do more than this? It didn't really bother Mettaton if so, as long as he could get it up again. But he slowed just in case, and started working his lips down despite how Asgore's cock stretched his mouth. For a good few moments, he forced away the need for his breathing process,  _knowing_ there was no way he'd be able to do it like this. Asgore's cock was so thick it stifled his moans, almost made his eyes water as it hit the back of his throat even though it felt like he barely had any inside at all, and rubbed the insides of him a little bit raw. He was thrilled by it and the tingle of pain it caused.

"Y-you really don't have to take that much," Asgore muttered after another few moments, sounding like he was just barely clinging onto himself. In return, Mettaton raised an eyebrow at him, as if to ask why he'd say such a foolish thing, and dipped his head lower, working his tongue over the thick vein on the underside. He could feel the heat of Asgore's body there, the exact temperature, every tiny twitch of his cock or inhale of breath. The king was putty beneath his fingers, and as he explored he found himself doing better and better, working his mouth over the length that he could reach until Asgore tensed up.

Then, and only then, he eased back, slowing his sucks and working on taking more again. It was no easy feat—he'd certainly never felt so invaded before, but if the way Asgore gripped the flowers beneath himself was anything to go by, then he was doing well. That was all the encouragement he needed to keep going, even though his vision kept flickering, likely a symptom of overheating now that his breath had been taken away. It was looking entirely possible that he might faint, but he didn't care—he took in even more of Asgore's cock and swallowed around it, his throat constricting almost painfully as his eyes rolled back, flickering closer to darkness.

Asgore pushed him back suddenly, panting and wiping his forehead. His crown had fallen off, rolled over into the flowers, golden hair splayed over petals the same color. "Enough," he gasped out, chest heaving.

Mettaton brushed his own hair back and grinned down at him weakly, woozy but regaining some steadiness as he panted. "Did it feel good for you, darling?"

Asgore nodded slowly, out of focus.

"Then why did you ask me to stop? I could have kept going." With some amount of damage to his system, but that wasn't necessary to bring up.

"... It's only polite to make sure you enjoy this too."

That was a decent enough excuse, he supposed—certainly not one he'd say no to. Besides, Mettaton was starting to get more interesting ideas as he sat there, eyes drifting down to Asgore's still-wet cock, feeling the insistent ache of his pussy. Within seconds, he'd given up sucking Asgore off and was climbing atop his lap instead. It was a difficult maneuver; he was much broader than Mettaton, and rather than resting in his lap, it was more of a sprawl. But Asgore's cock bumped pleasantly up against his cunt, and it made him shiver with excitement, his thighs squeezing in around it to keep him just where he wanted him, although it made him chuckle to see something so large in his own lap.

"What is it?" asked Asgore a little impatiently, which was understandable. With the heat of Mettaton's pussy pressed against him, dripping wet, he was probably more anticipatory than he'd been yet, and Mettaton scooted forward, rubbing against him eagerly. Even the way his cock pressed against his clit was enough to have him jittery with excitement, that same grin on his face as he looked wildly down at Asgore.

"You want to be inside, don't you, gorgeous? It'd feel a lot better than even my mouth!"

Asgore looked as though he'd been sucking on a lemon. Perhaps he was too shy to admit it? Either way, Mettaton was holding his cock tight between his thighs, grinding down on it mindlessly, probably soaking it with his own wetness.

"Just say yes and I'll let you have it," Mettaton assured him. He was a catch, after all—not only was he going to be a renowned TV star, but he wasn't hard on the eyes at all, either. Cute body, cute  _face_ , hips perfectly curved for holding onto, thighs plump and soft despite his more metallic appearance elsewhere, a tight, warm pussy that hadn't been touched by anyone but Mettaton (and now Asgore). He didn't at all think it was presumptuous to say that he was fit for a king.

Asgore nodded. His hands twitched among the dirt of the flower bed, but he remained where he was, and slowly, he lifted his hips up, pleading for more of Mettaton. It was hard to resist him.

"Oh, sweetheart! You're acting so cute. I'll definitely make you feel good!" Mettaton told him, lifting up and grasping Asgore's cock. It was still wet with his spit, and now his wetness too, and he jerked him off slowly as he lined his cock up with his pussy.

"Be careful," Asgore instructed him.

As if Mettaton would listen. Already he was eagerly pressing down, only to feel how large and blunt Asgore's cock really was. It was going to be a struggle, but one that would surely be worth it, and he used his fingertips to keep his pussy open as he sat down a bit more, feeling a sharp stretch that caused his eyebrows to furrow. There was pain to it, but strangely, that only excited him more, and he laughed to himself as he looked down at Asgore.

"Do you think I can even take it?" he wondered with a shudder, pushing down another increment to feel a twitch of pain again. Asgore was trembling beneath him, probably fighting the urge to just shove up into him as his pussy clamped down tightly around him. Mettaton almost wished he would; he was impatient and excited for more, and the idea of pain didn't scare him that much. But he knew Asgore wouldn't do it. He was too kind. "... I'll just have to do my best!"

Again he slipped down. His breath was coming once more, his body hot and trembling. He couldn't be sure if it was desperation or those tiny flitting livewires of pain, but he  _did_ know he was getting fed up with waiting to be full of Asgore's cock. At about the halfway point, he finally gave up and just pushed himself all the way down, wet enough that it was easily possible, and never so painful that it didn't feel good. In fact, it felt  _incredible_. For a long moment he was sure he shorted out and lost consciousness, shuddering in Asgore's lap, because when he came back to his senses, there was pink wetness splattered across Asgore's stomach, and Mettaton was wide-eyed and gasping.

"O-oh my! Look what you made me do, darling!" he murmured, surprised as he shifted around and took stock of himself. Nothing was wrong, although he could feel his cunt twitching as if he'd just come, and he grinned at Asgore, then looked down more closely at himself. There was a clear bulge in his stomach now where Asgore's cock rested inside of him, and it felt as though he was poking his oversensitive heart with the very tip. How odd—but he wasn't complaining.

"Are you alright?" Asgore asked urgently, despite the fact that Mettaton was already starting to move, lifting himself up and using his hands on Asgore's stomach to keep his balance as he did so.

"I've never been better!" he promised. When he felt the tip of Asgore's cock just barely resting inside, he held his breath and dropped back down with a moan so staticky it almost sounded like a scream. It bumped harshly into his heart, which was now dripping pink down his waist and over his pussy too, and he positively shook in Asgore's lap, his cunt convulsing around his dick as his eyes flickered into hearts. It hadn't been his  _favorite_ thing Alphys had programmed him with at first, but he had to admit, it was pretty handy in moments like this.

"Oooh, darling! Y-your gorgeous cock is really going to make me lose it already!" he breathed, clasping a hand over his chest as he tried to collect himself. There was no way it was really supposed to feel this good to have a cock so big inside of him, messing him up, yet all he could do was moan and push down harder, desperate for more. He didn't even care if it broke him; Alphys could fix it. For now, he had every intention of being selfish, of using the king's cock to get himself off until he couldn't anymore.

Speaking of whom, Asgore was looking at him with wide, stunned eyes. He didn't seem to know what to say or do, but he was moaning and his hips were twitching upward, so Mettaton took that as a sign to continue, riding him with smooth rolls of his hips. At the very least, he couldn't get tired like this—it was easy to keep going, to grind himself in his lap and feel Asgore's cock rubbing against his insides until his moans melted into something slurred and staticky.

And each time he lifted himself up and dropped back down, Asgore's cock would jostle his heart, more pink oozing out of it, dripping down between them until Mettaton reached up and pressed against its sticky surface. He let himself sit fully in his lap, gasping at the pressure the tip of his cock placed on his heart as he squeezed the warm shape, his whole body shivering and crumpling a little from the feeling. It made his pussy tighten up around Asgore as if he loathed to let him free, but as much as he wanted to stay right where he was and fondle his heart until he came, he thought he'd rather keep moving. It was far better that way, Asgore's cock stretching him open, taking him entirely. He squeezed down around it, and it sent a bolt of tension through his whole entire body that nearly made him start drooling.

Every bit of it was better than he could have imagined. Asgore seemed to enjoy it too, the dazed look on his face becoming almost goofy with pleasure as he moved, his eyes fixed between Mettaton's legs as his cock pushed up into his cunt. And his fingers kept curling tightly too, the muscles in his arms and torso trembling as he apparently tried desperately to keep himself from grabbing onto Mettaton.

He was surprised he could be allowed this much power over someone, let alone a king. It made him daring, pushing his ass back as he rolled his hips down, seeking nothing but the intense pleasure of Asgore's dick hitting his heart, making it throb and drip as much as his pussy was.

"How much longer can you take it?" Mettaton wondered—a question aimed at Asgore, but one he was unsure of the answer for himself. He was confident that if he started touching himself too soon with firm brushes of his fingertips over his clit, it would be over. But he really wanted to bring Asgore off before he came undone himself. It'd be much more exciting (and to be entirely honest, more  _empowering_ ) to watch him tumble over the edge first.

"I-is that... a serious question?" asked Asgore. The look on his face was one of agony, and it gave Mettaton the answer he was looking for. He didn't have much left in him.

So Mettaton brought himself right to the edge, then gave him the best possible ending—the culmination of the evening's drama and suspense. He bounced himself more quickly and harshly in Asgore's lap than he had yet, even when it felt like his body might just break down. Asgore was filling him up perfectly, his cock bumping Mettaton's heart, squeezed tight by his body, and when the tension of agony finally broke over his face, he came, flooding Mettaton's pussy with come as he kept pushing down to take every last drop from him. Already there was so much of it that the bulge in his stomach seemed to become more prominent, his heart drenched from the inside, and some of it even dripped out of his pussy as he continued to move in Asgore's lap. Asgore groaned, his whole body relaxing bonelessly into the flowers.

But by this point, Mettaton was frenzied, desperate for his own release, and he grabbed at Asgore's hand to fit it between his thighs and rub at his clit, which he did with a dazed look on his face. All it took was a couple strokes before Mettaton tensed up and came, his staticked moans breaking and his lower body stuttering in place as he squeezed and fluttered around Asgore's cock, his tongue hanging out as he panted. Each wave was too powerful; it made him fall forward against Asgore, just barely keeping himself up. And then everything went a little bit black.

Ten minutes passed before he started to come to, hazy and strangely sore. He'd never felt that particularly feeling before; it was interesting, to say the least, until he tried to shift to the side and found that he really couldn't.

He looked up, to Asgore's worried face hovering over top of him.

"What's the matter, darling?"

"Wh— _what's the matter_? You passed out and gave me a terrible fright!" Asgore said.

Mettaton looked down at himself again. He'd been draped with Asgore's cape, but slowly, he pushed it down and started to sit up, which was so difficult as to be impossible. All he could really do was look down to the dent in his stomach where Asgore's cock had filled him up, above which his heart was still gooey and dripping. Aside from that, he was sure there was still a ridiculous amount of come inside of him. He was utterly wrecked, and he doubted Alphys would be all that pleased about it... And to think, this had merely been a trip to show the king his capabilities, which he supposed he technically  _had_. All things considered, he'd done a pretty good job of making the king like him and appreciate Alphys' hard work in turn. At least she'd be happy about  _that_.

"Don't worry about me. A few hours of work and Alphys will have me back to normal!" he said.  _And hopefully better at these sorts of acts_.

Asgore looked at him a little dubiously, but he eventually nodded and turned, kneeling with his back to Mettaton.

"What's this, darling?" he wondered with a raised eyebrow.

"Climb on. I'll take you back to her lab since it's... well... my fault."

Mettaton tried to move, but he had difficulty even pushing to his knees, so sore that his legs would have likely given out despite their mechanical nature, except for Asgore being right there for him to spill forward onto. Did the king  _really_ think he'd done this to Mettaton? He'd done it to himself, and it had been wonderful. But that was best unsaid. He wrapped his arms around Asgore's broad shoulders, clinging tightly to him as he hoisted him up, and they set on their way.

In silence, they passed down through all the elevators Mettaton had taken on his way here; it was an unfortunately short ride when Asgore's long strides factored in, and all too soon, they were back at the lab. It was a shame; he'd rather been enjoying clinging to Asgore's physique, but as the doors slid open and Alphys glanced up from her work, he could tell that it would have just been avoiding the inevitable to plead a little more time with him.

"Wh-what happened to him!" she cried out, distressed as she scuttled forward and guided Asgore to take him to her workbench and lay him down. How  _depressing_. This was so much less comfortable.

"I was just having  _fun_ ," Mettaton muttered plaintively, glancing away as she examined the goo dripping from his heart and the rather clear indications of what had just happened. When he risked looking at her, her eyes were wide and she seemed extremely flustered, but she reached for a rag anyway, resigned to what she had to do.

Asgore shuffled embarrassedly in the background, clearly wanting to get out of there before things got even more awkward. But first he inquired, "Will he be alright? I'd hate to have broken such a fine creation..."

"I-I can fix him right up! I promise you!" she said. A little too excited to impress him, surely—even knowing what he'd just been doing to Mettaton. But that was just one of her charms.

Mettaton laughed as he propped himself up on one arm, observing Asgore, who merely nodded and started to turn away. "Darling, come see me again sometime! I'll give you another good show!"

Asgore hunched his shoulders, flustered, and shuffled away quickly, but at the very least, he waved backward for Mettaton, who grinned a little wider in spite of himself.

"Could you... lay back?" Alphys asked after a moment, dragging him once more toward the reality of the situation.

With a sigh, he did so, pouting a little. This was no fair at all. "Could you build me a little stronger this time? It might be better if I didn't take another beating like that."

She sighed, long-suffering, and narrowed her eyes at him. "... Leave it to you to go and s-show him how combat-capable you are, and then come back l-looking l-like this..."

"I'll take that as a compliment, sweetheart," he said with a sharp grin. She took a moment, but smiled fondly back at him—she could never resist, after all. Besides, Mettaton's good mood was probably infectious. And with the prospect of seeing Asgore again, he was positively giddy.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr!](http://bunansa.tumblr.com)


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